Malfoy and Daddy Voldemort: Clothes Shopping!
by E. Jack Sanna
Summary: A Crack!Fic in which Voldemort, after adopting a young Draco Malfoy, must learn to carry out all of the typical daddy duties - some of which are horrific even to the Dark Lord.


Jymboree, at noon on a Sunday. The sun filtering through the windows,  
illuminating the bright hues of soft clothing, of plush lustrousness;  
the scene is one of beauty, of a childish serenity one might only find  
in dreams. The excitement filtering through the Bunny shaped speakers  
is something from a toddler's dreamland - the Wiggles, I believe it  
was. If one were to take cotton candy, breed it with some pygmie puffs  
and let it reproduce with the Doodlebops, one might result in  
something like this.  
Welcome to the battleground.  
I enter slowly, allowing it all to fill my senses, very slowly so as  
not to overwhelm myself with the ferocious colors. A toy hippo bumps  
against my boot, and bounces away with a shrill squealing cry of 'I  
LOVE YOU!' and I must admit, I'm unaware such a shade of pink existed  
in this world. In truth, I'm marking my exit points, in case the  
battalion of mothers in this Trojan worthy battleground decides I am  
unworthy to hunt with their pride. I can smell it on the air as they  
turn to face me - I can smell their deliberation. Pedophiles would  
have a warmer reception in a Catholic school. And I know they can  
smell my fear.  
My tread is silent on the plush carpeting, a throwback to the  
eighties, like the mullett of flooring. I am unsure what color to call  
this, but I decide that it must have been produced when the amorous  
hippo toy puked Smarties candy.  
The baby basket sways dangerously in my hand as I approach a clothing  
rack. I only draw near to it because it houses the dimmest hues  
available in this Freudian playground; a neon green meets my eyes.  
Perhaps the colours on this rack came from the back end of the amorous  
hippo. I am unsure.  
A glance down at my charge tells me he is alright - asleep, it would  
appear. Or it could well be that Bellatrix slipped him something while  
I wasn't looking. I decide it is best not to know at this moment and  
take my attention (what little of it isn't spent surveying my back,  
ready to defend myself from fake-nail claws) to a small ensemble on  
the rack in front of me. I don't understand why Bellatrix suggested I  
shop here; certainly these clothes were befitting of a Hufflepuff, and  
not the little snake child Malfoy would become. I attempted to craft a  
small snakeskin suit; it turned out rather unsuccessfully. I, though  
many things and supreme leader among them, am not a seamstress.  
"Can I...can I help you?" The saccarine sweet voice of a woman sounds  
from the other side of the row of clothing. She's dressed even more  
brightly than the hippo in it's birthday suit. Her lips curve upwards  
sickeningly, like she's never seen a more joyous sight in her life  
than myself in the middle of this hell-hole.  
"The child requires clothing." I dump the basket on the floor and  
point to it. This woman gasps and gazes, with some strange emotion, at  
the child. I can smell the anger on the air, the shock. It's worse  
than the day I killed the Potters. I will never understand the  
attraction muggles have to children.  
She nervously grabs an outfit from the rack and hands it to me, hands  
shaking. I smile. Having no nose is so useful sometimes, it is of no  
wonder why Dolly Parton gets so much free stuff.  
I take the outfit. It is pink.  
"It is...is this for a male child?"  
The woman gulps, ducking her head. Rouge flushes the tips of her ears  
- it brings back a delicious memory of when I once insulted  
Bellatrix's dress and she proceeded to take it off completely. Ah,  
different story. I digress.  
"No, but I thought it was a little girl-"  
She is useless, a bumbling fool. I have no use of her. I told  
Bellatrix this was a store unbefitting of the tow-headed adoptee of  
the Dark Lord.  
The flash of Green light was, quite luckily, disguised by the alarming  
shades of colour in the store.  
I only regret stopping to pick up the toy hippo for the sobbing  
Malfoy. I am unsure of how many times I can hear a disgusting, fat  
lard scream it's love for the child before it becomes of use to  
Nagini.  
Ah. I shall gift it to Bellatrix and tell her I spent an exorbitant  
amount on it. Bitches love amorous hippos.


End file.
